


The Dread Pirate Missy

by kathkin



Series: Femslash February Trope Bingo [4]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February Trope Bingo, Temporary Character Death, Time Loop, more like pre-femslash, there's some kissing tho it totally counts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 09:31:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3442100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“It’s all a bit Dread Pirate Roberts, isn’t it? ‘Good-night, Osgood. Sleep well. I’ll most likely kill you when the loop ends’.”</i> Osgood knew she ought to be more concerned at finding herself aboard Missy's TARDIS. Again. And again. And again. In which things get a bit <i>Groundhog Day</i>, Osgood eats a lot of butterscotch, and Missy learns a valuable lesson about friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dread Pirate Missy

**Author's Note:**

> For [Femslash February Trope Bingo](http://femtropebingo.tumblr.com): 'Time Loop'

Osgood knew she really ought to be more concerned at finding herself aboard a time machine, especially since she had no idea how she’d come to be there and she was fairly sure her last clear memory was, well, _dying_ – but after the initial disorientation had passed, it was all she could do not to squeal. She was onboard a _TARDIS_. Probably not _the_ TARDIS, unless the Doctor’s tastes had changed quite radically – she’d never seen the inside of his TARDIS, but she’d read descriptions and they tended towards matte white and coral, not ominous black and red with incongruous chintzy lamps and vases full of false flowers – but the hexagonal console and central column were unmistakable.

The question of whose TARDIS it was – and the rather obvious answer – didn’t cross her mind until she heard footsteps stumping in the corridor outside. She turned towards the door just as it opened.

Missy stood in the doorway, looking curiously immaculate and rather cross. Cross even before her eye fell upon Osgood, standing beside her console. She blinked. Osgood couldn’t tell which of them was more baffled. “Didn’t I kill you already?” she snapped.

“Um?” said Osgood, because really, what else were you supposed to say to that?

Missy sighed as if Osgood’s mysterious survival was some trivial exasperation – and levelled her disintegrator.

Osgood had just enough time to think to herself _no, that’s not fair, ‘um’ is a terrible last word_ before the world around her dissolved in a blinding white flash.

*

A cold hum of machinery filled her ears. She opened her eyes. She was standing by the gently-ticking console of Missy’s TARDIS, miraculously unharmed, or at least in one piece, or at least not in millions of tiny pieces swimming about in the air.

Footsteps. The door whooshed open, and there was Missy. She looked at Osgood in befuddlement. She looked at her disintegrator. “I _definitely_ killed you that time,” she said, bemused. “Is this thing on the blink?” She gave it a shake and a smack.

Osgood found her tongue. “Are we in the Nethersphere?”

“Don’t be silly,” said Missy. “The Nethersphere’s gone. The Doctor saw to _that_ ,” she spat. She marched over to the console, muttering under her breath about _perfectly good present_ and _no gratitude_. 

“So I’m _not_ dead?” said Osgood. Missy shot her a withering look. “I just want to be clear on that.”

“You will be soon if you don’t keep quiet,” said Missy. She threw her disintegrator down atop the console and began to fiddle with the controls. At length, she said, “something very unusual is happening.”

“I can see that,” said Osgood. “I mean, what am _I_ doing in your TARDIS?”

“Oh, _that_ ,” said Missy. “That’s quite simple. I should have known putting my teleporter and my disintegrator in the same device was a bad idea.”

Osgood digested that. She wasn’t entirely sure it was the truth, because for all her faults Missy didn’t strike her as absent-minded, but it was as good an explanation as any. “At least you didn’t get it the other way around.” She’d meant it to be genuinely cheering, but the moment the words were out of her mouth she wondered just why she was trying to cheer Missy up. Missy, who was rolling her eyes and aiming the disintegrator again. “Oh, don’t –”

*

White light. Humming. Missy’s console room. Missy herself, marching in with a furious look on her face. “Will you stop _doing_ that?” said Osgood. “It’s not pleasant.”

“It’s not exactly pleasant for me either,” Missy snapped, scrambling about her console to look at the read outs. “Oh, _botheration_.”

“Botheration what?” said Osgood, blinking.

“This infernal _machine_ ,” Missy aimed a kick at the console, “is only _looping_.” She sighed and tucked a curl of hair neatly behind her ear. “It’ll be the internal temporal stabilisers again. One just can’t get the parts since _someone_ sealed the manufacturers in a pocket universe.”

“We’re in a time loop,” said Osgood flatly. It wasn’t a question.

“Oh good,” said Missy. “I was afraid I’d have to explain it to you. Not to worry, though,” she went on, uncharacteristically chipper. “I’ll have it fixed in a jiffy. Then I can get on with killing you.”

“What a charming prospect,” said Osgood.

*

“Twenty-one minutes and twenty-nine seconds,” said Osgood proudly.

It was somewhere around the fifth or sixth loop. “Twenty-one minutes and twenty-nine seconds what?” Missy snapped, in the process of taking off her coat and rolling up her sleeves.

“That’s how long the loop lasts,” said Osgood. “I timed it.” She held up her wrist, with her watch on it.

“Well, _obviously._ ” Missy levered up the console panel she’d been working on during the last loop and leaned into her TARDIS like a mechanic going under the bonnet of a car.

“We’re not all time sensitive, you know,” said Osgood, actually a little hurt, as if _that_ was the worst thing Missy had done to her, being slightly patronising.

“More’s the pity,” said Missy, her voice muffled. Her hand came up clutching a fistful of translucent cables. “No. No. _No_.” She emerged, looking distinctly rough around the edges and a touch greasy. She stood back and put her hands on her hips. “It’s _not_ a short circuit,” she said resolutely, as if that was good news.

“Is that good news?” said Osgood.

“It means I’ve ruled out the most obvious solution and will now be exploring other issues,” said Missy. She wrenched the panel back down and tugged open the next one along. 

“And then you’re going to kill me?” Osgood said.

“Then I shall _definitely_ kill you,” said Missy. “You’re growing more tiresome with every repetition. I don’t know how the Doctor puts up with you monkeys crawling all over his TARDIS.”

“I’m not crawling!” Osgood protested. “I’m not even touching.” She held her hands in the air to show that they were nowhere near the console. She didn’t dare touch, for fear of making things worse.

“Talking’s like crawling,” said Missy. “It’s like crawling but _noisy_.” She was unspooling cables from within the console, unspooling and unspooling and unspooling, like the inside of her ship was a ginormous ball of translucent yarn and she was a very angry cat. “Now shut up or I’ll disintegrate you again.”

*

“How long’s this going to take?”

“Somewhere in the region of twenty-one minutes and twenty-nine seconds.”

“You know what I meant. How many loops?”

“ _Twenty-one minutes and twenty-nine seconds._ ”

*

“It’s all a bit Dread Pirate Roberts, isn’t it?” said Osgood. She was perched atop the console, swinging her dangling legs back and forth while Missy rooted through a pile of terrifyingly complicated circuitry.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about but I’m _sure_ I don’t like it,” said Missy.

“Dread Pirate Roberts,” said Osgood. “ _The Princess Bride_. ‘Good-night, Osgood. Sleep well. I’ll most likely kill you when the loop ends’.”

“Stop talking nonsense,” said Missy. “And stop eating my butterscotch!”

Osgood looking at the paper bag in her hand, which she’d found hidden inside a porcelain vase two or three loops ago. “Why? It’ll come back.” She crammed another square into her mouth.

“Not if I fix this mess before the loop resets,” said Missy, a picture of determination.

Osgood looked at her watch. “You have,” she said around a mouthful of creamy boiled sweet, “twenty-five seconds. Good luck.”

Missy’s glare could have turned Osgood to stone. “I’m going to _enjoy_ killing you.”

*

“Are you saying you didn’t enjoy killing me the first time? I’m hurt.”

“Will you be quiet and let me _think_.”

*

Even Osgood had lost count of the number of twenty-one minute and twenty-nine second loops by the time Missy tried out what she called _drastic measures_.

 _Drastic measures_ consisted of thwacking the console repeatedly with her umbrella while crying, “ _why – are – you – looping_!” and “ _stop – doing – this_!” at the top of her lungs. When this achieved nothing but some sparks and some very angry clicking, she threw her umbrella across the room – breaking one of her floral vases – and threw up her hands. “I am _entirely_ out of ideas that I can accomplish alone.”

__“Oh, really?” Osgood wasn’t sure if she was dismayed or heartened. True, repeating the same twenty-one minutes and twenty-nine seconds over and over with only a psychopathic alien for company wasn’t much of a life, but it was probably better than being dead. Probably._ _

__“I’m going to need another pair of hands.”_ _

__It wasn’t till Missy gave her a coldly beseeching look that Osgood realised that _she_ was the hands. “Are you serious? Why should I held you?”_ _

__“To get out of this infernal loop?” Missy suggested._ _

__“So you can kill me?” said Osgood. “No, thanks.”_ _

__Missy folded her arms and pouted. “I might _not_ kill you,” she said sweetly. “If you help me fix this.”_ _

__“I thought you didn’t want monkeys crawling all over your TARDIS?”_ _

__“Just _one_ monkey,” said Missy. “ _One_ monkey I could tolerate.”_ _

__“No,” said Osgood. “Not if you paid me.”_ _

__“I probably _could_ pay you,” Missy pleaded. “Or I could take you to space. I bet you’d like space, wouldn’t you?”_ _

__That one gave Osgood pause. But no. _No_. “No!” _ _

__“No?”_ _

__“ _No_.”_ _

__Missy disintegrated her._ _

____

*

When the doors opened, Osgood was ready. She flung the lamp she’d been clutching with all her strength and watched with resignation as Missy dodged it. _Crash_. Bang. Shattering echoed about the console room.

Missy looked ruefully at the fragments. “That was my _favourite_.”

“So what?” Osgood picked up a vase and threw it after the lamp.

“Stop breaking my accessories!” Missy said, her voice almost a snarl. “Or –” She levelled her disintegrator.

*

“Stop disintegrating me and I’ll stop breaking your things.”

Missy crunched across the broken vase upon the floor. “Deal.” She gave her flicking console a pondering look. “Well, then. If I can’t fix my TARDIS and I can’t be rid of _you_ , how are we going to pass all the infinite time at our disposal?”

“Lots and lots of rousing sing-songs?”

“I despise you utterly.” Missy ranged around the console, waving her hands in the air as if she could fix the problem through emphatic gesturing. Osgood rolled her eyes and lifted the lid off the butterscotch jar. “I’m _bored_.” When this didn’t get a response, Missy threw her hands to what passed for the heavens and proclaimed, “I am _bored_!”

“ _You’re_ bored?” said Osgood. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve done anything but listen to you rant and eat butterscotch?”

Missy swatted the bag out of her hand.

*

“Where was I?” said Osgood as Missy walked back into the console room, still blinking the last of the white flash out of her eyes.

“She does not get eaten by the eels at this time,” Missy parroted faithfully. “Do go on. I’m thrilled,” she deadpanned.

“Oh, yes,” said Osgood, undaunted. “So, she’s in the water, the eel’s coming towards her, and –”

*

“Are you not finished yet?”

“Shush. I’m just getting to the good bits. So then Inigo Montoya finally confronts Count Rugen, and,” Osgood struck the stance, hand clasped around an imaginary sword, “and says, _hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die_.”

“If you’re going to do the accent, you could at least do it properly.” Missy struck a fencing stance of her own and repeated the line in a thick accent. “’ _Allo. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die_.”

“That didn’t sound very Spanish.”

“That’s because Inigo Montoya is _Portuguese_ ,” said Missy with an air of _duh_.

“Only in the book,” said Osgood automatically. “Hang on, I thought you said you didn’t get the ref –”

“And what’s this?” Misys stomped across the room and took hold of Osgood’s ‘sword-arm’, waggling about. “What’s this noodle arm? No, no, this won’t do. You’re never going to win any duels with such an awful stance.”

“I’m never going to fight any duels, stuck in here,” Osgood pointed out.

“You never know.”

Missy flitted out of the console room and, quite to Osgood’s bafflement, came back bearing a set of fencing foils. She tossed one at Osgood. Osgood flailed wildly, the foil clattering down onto the black floor. “Careful!”

“You are a _terrible_ swordswoman,” said Missy, her hands upon her hips, her own foil jutting out to the side.

*

It took another dozen or so loops for Osgood to actually catch the foil Missy persisted in tossing at her every time she walked into the console room. When at last she got it she beamed to herself. Missy quirked an eyebrow in amusement. “We might make a decent swordswoman of you yet.”

“I don’t think throwing swords about is typically lesson one,” said Osgood. “It’s all a bit irresponsible, isn’t it?”

“I live and breathe irresponsible.” Missy shucked off her coat and slipped behind Osgood, easing her lab coat off her shoulders. “Solid stance. Legs bent. Arms _firm_ ,” she said as she maneuvered Osgood into position. Her cool breath tickled Osgood’s neck. Osgood shuddered – or shivered, she wasn’t sure which. “ _Much_ better. Now,” Missy stepped out in front of her and raised her foil. “Try to kill me.”

*

“ _En garde_!” Missy cried. Osgood was still fumbling with the foil she’d been thrown. She adjusted the sit of her glasses and brought it up just in time to parry Missy’s first strike.

“That’s not fair. I wasn’t ready!”

“A _true_ enemy wouldn’t wait for you to be ready.” Their foils clashed together. With what she felt was a heroic effort, Osgood stayed on her feet. “You’re improving.”

“Thanks, I think,” said Osgood. “It’s funny. We’ve been at this for hours and I’m not even tired.”

“That’s because we’re in a _time loop_ , you silly girl,” said Missy. “All bodily functions reset every twenty-one minutes.”

“And twenty-nine seconds,” Osgood added automatically. She considered the implications of this as she did her best to parry another thrust. “I haven’t peed in weeks.”

“You’re over-sharing again, Osgood.” With a forceful swipe, Missy disarmed her, sending her onto the floor on her bum.

“Sorry.” Osgood rubbed her wrist where it ached and stared up at Missy, sweaty and coatless and a little worse for wear for all the fencing. 

Missy held her sword aloft. “Victory!” she crowed. “That’s twenty four – nil.”

“That’s not fair. I’m –”

White light swallowed her up –

*

– And spat her out again. “I’m a beginner,” she finished lamely as Missy strode back into the console room.

“That’s no excuse,” said Missy. “En garde!”

*

“Maybe I’ve actually been dead this whole time,” Osgood mused, propped against the TARDIS console, her legs pulled up to her chest. “Maybe this is hell.”

“You wound me,” said Missy. “I’m not _that_ bad, am I? Honestly.”

Osgood opened her mouth to say that yes, she really sort of was – but was she? It hit Osgood all at once, watching Missy hum to herself as she scudded about the console room, that things could be worse. Things could be a _lot_ worse. Aside from the repeated disintegrations – Osgood took a moment to reflect on just how totally bonkers her life had become, that that could be a meaningful statement – aside from the repeated disintegrations, Missy hadn’t done anything all that bad to her.

For instance: Missy could have just hypnotised her into helping to fix the TARDIS and end the loop. Even if Osgood were to suppose that Missy wasn’t capable of hypnotising people at the moment (UNIT’s files were very firm on the matter of the Master and hypnosis, but this was an entirely new Master, so who knew?), she was capable of torture. Osgood was sure the possibilities for torture were endless when your subject would bounce back every twenty-one minutes and twenty-nine seconds. But Missy hadn’t tried to force her to help. She’d just sort of accepted her fate, albeit reluctantly.

“Maybe _you’re_ dead and I’m _you’re_ hell,” she said.

Missy snorted. “Don’t be absurd,” she said darkly. “I could dream up _much_ worse things than you.”

*

“So then I waited in the pub for two whole hours, but he never showed up,” said Osgood.

“Mm-hmm,” said Missy. She sounded honestly interested, but Osgood couldn’t tell if that was sympathy or sadism. “Then what did you do?”

Osgood drew her legs more tightly to her chest. Beside her, Missy was lounging against one of her frilly end tables. “I went home and watched Star Trek re-runs.” She paused, wondering if she ought to go on. But if you couldn’t talk to a sociopathic alien who you were trapped in a time loop with, who _could_ you talk to? “And I cried.” She shoved a piece of butterscotch into her mouth.

“ _Honestly_.” Missy rolled her eyes. “Didn’t you even – what is it in your century? Telephone him?”

“I texted him,” said Osgood weakly.

“Now, you see, this is why I started carrying my disintegrator,” said Missy. “I use it to deal with all my problems.” She mimed shooting a gun at imaginary enemies. “ _Pew, pew, pew_.”

Osgood stared at her. “Are you suggested I _disintegrate_ my ex-boyfriend?”

Missy shrugged. “It works for me.” She patted Osgood’s knee in a manner that _might_ have been meant to be comforting. “If we ever get out of this dratted loop, would you like me to disintegrate him for you?”

“No!” Osgood exclaimed on reflex. She caught herself. “I thought you were going to disintegrate me? If we get out of the loop?”

“Oh, yes,” said Missy. She looked genuinely startled. It was clear that she’d forgotten, at least momentarily, that she was supposed to want Osgood dead. “Yes. I did say that, didn’t I?”

*

“I resigned myself to dying alone a long time ago. I’d be a cat lady if I wasn’t allergic.”

“Oh, come now. Don’t be absurd. You’re pretty and clever and with my help you’re getting to be a decent swordswoman. If _that’s_ not girlfriend material I don’t know what is.”

Osgood snorted.

“I mean it. What _you_ are is too good for all those silly human men you hang around with.”

“I really can never tell whether or not you’re joking.”

*

It took a long time – loop after loop after loop, long enough for Osgood to re-enact _The Princess Bride_ , all six _Star Wars_ films, _The Fifth Element_ , and a good bit of _Lord of the Rings_ (after a while Missy declared that come to think of it, she _had_ read _Lord of the Rings_ , so it really wasn’t necessary); long enough for her to become a passable fencer; long enough for Missy to perform her own renditions of what she insisted were ‘High Gallifreyan Epics’; long enough for any number of butterscotch eating contests – but eventually they ran out of things to do.

Osgood sat, and watched the numbers tick by on her watch, getting nearer and nearer to 21:29. “I’m _so_ bored,” she said, dumbstruck at her own boredom. She’d never been so bored before. She’d always been so good at keeping herself entertained.

“ _You’re_ bored?” said Missy. “ _You’re_ bored, you with your tiny human brain? How do you think I feel?” She’d been circling the console again, trailing her fingers across the controls. She came to a halt before Osgood.

“I can’t think of a single other thing to do,” said Osgood.

“I’m sure we can come up with a few more,” said Missy. “For instance.”

Then, as if Osgood’s already completely bonkers life couldn’t get any more bonkers, Missy dipped her head forward and kissed her. Her lips felt very cool, and Osgood had the presence of mind to think _of course, Time Lords have a lower body temperature than humans_ before her brain completely short-circuited.

Missy’s fingers were on her chin, and she was smiling; and then – _21:29_.

*

“You know, come to think of it I don’t remember much of _Lord of the Rings_ ,” Missy called as she strode into the console room, stripping off her gloves to reveal white fingers underneath. “Where were you?”

Osgood found her tongue. “What?”

“No, wait, I remember,” Missy went on, tapping her glove to her lips. “We were almost at the breaking of the fellowship, weren’t we? Why don’t you get on with that?”

“But –”

“Hurry up, now,” said Missy, perching herself on a padded chair. “We’ve only got twenty minutes or so before the universe resets.”

*

“How long have we been looping now?”

“In terms of relative time?”

“Yes. Relative time.”

“Oh, oodles of loops. Months, probably.”

“Months and _months_.”

*

“Say I were to help you fix this.” Osgood rested her elbows upon the console, above the hole in the floor where Missy was cataloguing – cataloguing _something_ , Osgood wasn’t clear on what, but it involved a lot of banging and swearing. “What would I have to do?”

“Hand me things, mainly,” said Missy. “That and keep the time-fission port open long enough for me to work – it might be more than handing me things.” Her head popped up from the hole in the floor. “Exactly how much do you know about the inner workings of a TARDIS?”

Osgood crouched on the floor beside the hole. “Only what I’ve read in mission reports, really. The Doctor was always very secretive about his.”

“Well, naturally,” said Missy. “You’re quite clever for a human, aren’t you?”

“Well, _yes_ ,” said Osgood, because there was no point being modest about it. It was a rare moment of bravado on her part, and Missy must have appreciated it, for her lips twisted into a smile.

“Good girl.” She ducked under the floor again. “Get ready for the crash course on temporal circuitry.”

“I really hope you don’t mean _crash_ literally,” said Osgood, raising her voice to be heard over the banging.

*

On the plus side, Osgood supposed, in the event that Missy killed her, she would die with unprecedented knowledge of the inner workings of a TARDIS.

Which really didn’t amount to much, as she still didn’t have a clue _why_ it worked. She just knew that it did, and that this was a temporal stabilisation circuit and it needed to be dismantled and fed into the spatial stabilisation circuit if they wanted any chance of getting the time-fission port open for long enough for Missy to – as she put it – rejig things. Theoretically it was all quite simple, but the trouble with _theoretically_ was that it didn’t cover eventualities such as being caught in a twenty-one minute twenty-nine second time loop which made the whole thing into an absurd race against the clock.

While she learned how to dismantle and re-assemble a temporal stabilisation circuit, she was gaining a _truly_ unprecedented insider knowledge of the Master’s various attempts at world domination.

“But of course, the Doctor has _no_ appreciation for innovative urban architecture,” said Missy as she twisted wires together. “So he destroys my beautiful, _beautiful_ web, which there was _no_ call to do.” Osgood made sympathetic noises, teasing out translucent strands. “And there was no call to leave me in a collapsing pocket dimension either, but of course that didn’t stop him – watch your fingers, you silly girl!”

Sparks flew. Osgood didn’t get her hand clear in time. She jammed her stinging fingers into her mouth, her probe clattering to the floor.

“Oh, well,” said Missy, stepping back from the circuit with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Might as well give up.”

“We were never going to make it,” Osgood said around her fingers.

“Stop mumbling, will you?”

Osgood took her fingers out of her mouth. “I said, we were never going to make it this loop.”

“I suppose not.” Missy sighed theatrically and leaned back into the metallic clutches of the wiring that hung all around them.

They were in the curious space beneath the console, which Osgood would have said was like a hall of mirrors if the mirrors were tiny and tube-shaped and bedecked with coloured lights – it was sort of like a hall of mirrors, and also sort of like what she imagined being inside a Christmas tree ornament would be like.

“So _anyway_ ,” Missy went on, “ _he_ swans off in his new body, and takes that boy genius of his with him – I was sorry to hear that one died, he was very clever for a primitive – leaving poor little _me_ for dead.”

“How did you escape?” Osgood inspected her burned fingers. It wasn’t that bad, even taking into account that it would heal in – she checked her watch – five minutes and forty-four seconds.

“That would be telling.” Missy tapped her nose. “Naturally I held a grudge, so I came up with this brilliant scheme – I forget the details. It had something to do with aeroplanes.” She toyed with her hair, which was coming out of its neat bun. “At least, I thought it was brilliant at the time. That incarnation had questionable decision-making skills. I suppose that’s what you get for using non-Gallifreyan bodies. But at least I never lost my sense of style, which is more than can be said for _some_ people.”

“I like the way the Doctor dresses,” Osgood said, indignant. She had _sort of_ adopted him as her personal style icon, at least as much as she had any style at all.

“ _You_ haven’t met his sixth self,” Missy retorted.

“I’ve seen pictures,” said Osgood. “And I think he made it work. I think it was –” She searched for the right word. “– snazzy.”

Missy paused in toying with her hair and snorted. “Snazzy?” she said. “That better be earth-slang for _totally ridiculous and not at all flattering._ ”

“Sure, why not,” Osgood said.

*

“You know, I already know about most of these. I’ve read all of UNIT’s files on you.”

“They won’t tell it properly. Now, be quiet and hand me the flux spanner.”

*

It was just as well all bodily processes reset. If they had to do it at normal rates of exhaustion, it would probably have been truly impossible rather than just very, very difficult.

This was how it went: once Osgood had got her part of the repair work memorised so well she could do it blindfolded, which took endless loops (and burned fingers) in itself, they started picking up speed.

White light dissolved into the gloom of Missy’s TARDIS. The moment Osgood could see, she was off, racing around the console to pry up one of the panels. She dropped heavily through the resulting hole, landing upon the glassy floor beneath. She slipped over, found her footing, and struggled through the mass of wiring to the temporal stabilisation circuits.

She had three wires out already when Missy dropped down beside her, toolbox in hand. “Probe.” She thrust it into Osgood’s hand. “Flux spanner.” She wiggled her fingers.

Osgood retrieved the flux spanner from where it was perpetually abandoned amongst the circuits and pressed it into Missy’s palm. “Flux spanner.”

The trick was getting the circuit disassembled quickly enough without breaking any of the wires, which would scupper them before they’d even got started. The good news was she had infinite time to keep trying. The bad news was they had infinite time to keep trying.

Osgood was trying to think of it as like a game. A really frustrating, irksome, fiddly game that more often than not ended with burnt fingers and Missy berating her for being so slow (to which she usually reminded Missy just what a favour she was doing her by helping out). An intensely annoying, miserable game –

“Got it!” She started twisting the circuit back together, plugging it into the fistful of wires Missy offered her. “How long’s left?”

“Don’t look at the clock,” said Missy. “ _Never_ look at the clock.”

It was turning out to be one of those loops where their goal actually started to look – almost – doable. They got the circuits back together in record time and then – with a startling thrum of sparks – the temporal fission port was opening up. 

Not that she could see it. It was somewhere above them, upon the console. It was her job to hold the circuits together and hold the cable in the other. 

Missy squirmed up through the hole, her heels kicking. “Cable.” She thrust her hand back down. Osgood tossed up the cable and watched it unspool up into the console room. “Almost,” Missy called, “almost – if we can just hold it open a minute longer –” She dropped suddenly back down, her hands joining Osgood’s on the circuits. “Just a _smidge_ longer –”

What they were trying to do, the way Osgood understood it, was reset the TARDIS’s internal temporal dimensions the way you might restart a computer. But a TARDIS being a lot more complex than a computer, it wasn’t as simple as pressing a button –

She began to say, “I think we might ha –”

An all-consuming white flash.

*

She was standing by the TARDIS console, still blinking away the after-images, too stunned by the suddenness of it to begin again.

The doors banged open. Missy stormed in, her fingers clenched, almost shaking with rage. Osgood braced herself for a scolding, but it wasn’t her that Missy’s rage was directed at. It was seemingly everything else. “Stupid machine,” Missy snarled, her booted foot thumping against the console. “Stupid _idiotic_ machine –” She snatched up a lamp and threw it at the console, producing a shower of sparks.

“Don’t!” Osgood cried as Missy went for a vase. “Missy! Stop it!”

 _Crash_. “It’s _my_ TARDIS and I shall break what I _like_.” _Smash_. The console was still sparking. She reached for another vase.

“That’s your favourite!” Osgood reached out a futile hand to stop her. _Crash_.

Surrounded by china and class shards, Missy clenched her hands into fists and screamed at the heavens.

In the deafening silence that followed, Osgood said, “I really thought we had it that time.”

Missy’s piercing glare turned upon her, and once again Osgood braced herself. But still Missy wasn’t angry with her. “You humans,” Missy sighed. “With your positive, can-do _attitude_ s.” This last she sneered. “You’re only so painfully optimistic because you can’t see the big picture.”

“What’s the big picture, then?” Osgood shrugged.

“We’re never going to fix this,” Missy said bluntly. “We’re going to be stuck in this, this – _infernal_ time loop forever, because there isn’t enough _time_.”

“You don’t know that.”

Missy cocked her head. “I know about _time_ , girl.”

“We’ll get there,” said Osgood, resolute. “We just need a little more practice.”

Missy cocked her head the other way, looking for a moment all the world like a puppet with too-loose strings. “There you go again. Can-do attitude. You know, I’m almost beginning to see what the Doctor likes about you people.”

*

How many loops had it been? Osgood didn’t have the slightest idea. The constant re-setting had played havoc with her sense of time. If she had to guess, she’d say it had been weeks or more since they’d started trying in earnest to fix the problem.

There she was, clutching the temporal stabilisation circuits so tightly that her burned fingers felt raw. Above her, there was a crackle of sparks, a surge of energy as the temporal fission port opened.

Missy dropped down beside her, grabbing for the circuits. Their fingers interlocked, holding the circuit together as energy fizzed around them. “Just a moment longer,” Missy was saying, half under her breath. “Just a few _seconds_ –”

There was an almighty _roar_ of energy, a shockwave that jarred Osgood’s bones and set her teeth on edge. Sparks crackled all around them, lighting up the console room blue and white. The circuits grew hot in their hands, so hot that Osgood yelped and would have let go were it not for Missy’s hands holding hers in place.

Then, with a final _fizz_ , the world was plunged into inky darkness. Osgood stood blinking, waiting vainly for her eyes to adjust. She counted a full ten seconds before some lights flickered into life on the console, a dim blue glow.

She looked at her watch, scarcely daring to breath – and her heart leapt. “Twenty-two minutes!” She couldn’t help but whoop, punching the air in delight. She couldn’t help but throw her arms around Missy in a hug of delight.

The total elation at being back in normal time lasted only a few moments. Missy was unyielding in her arms. A hand patted her arm as if to say _good job, old sport_. She stepped back awkwardly and looked at Missy, lit up ever-brighter as more and more lights came back on. She was hopelessly dishevelled, her coat abandoned, her sleeves rolled up, curls of hair hanging around her shoulders. “Are you going to kill me now?” she said hesistantly. She wasn’t sure whether or not she was truly fearful of the answer.

Missy looked her up and down. At length, she shrugged. “In the morning,” she said with a sigh.

With that, she kissed Osgood on the cheek and clambered up into the brightening console room. 

Osgood took the flux spanner from where Missy had left it and tucked it into its proper place in the toolbox before hefting the whole box up through the hole. She scrambled up it and sat upon the edge, her legs dangling into the mirrored space, surveying the console room as if seeing it for the first time. She knew she ought to be more concerned at being aboard a TARDIS piloted by a probably-sociopathic alien who had, after all, promised to kill her – but sitting by herself beside the console, swinging her legs back and forth, she found she couldn’t help but grin.


End file.
